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Story:Kings of Strife/Part 22
Part Twenty-Two The desert-grizzled motorcycle brought Silverius and Vik to Inusia City quickly; not fast enough to have been done by train, but faster than the two could have ever brought themselves. For some reason, Vik felt he was going to die soon. The fear gripped him as soon as they both saw the massive industrial city on the horizon of the cracked, rocky Inusian ground. Like a gigantic parasite of metal and machine, the city of Inusia was overflowing with gray buildings and chimneys, and the land around it was a sickly, pallid yellow, rife with small fissures and pockets of dying grass. Still the city expanded and rose ever higher, mercilessly. At first, Vik reasoned that his fear extended from the oppressive city itself. “What is this place?” he exclaimed, struggling to have himself heard over the repetitive roar of the motorcycle he shared with Silverius. “Inusia City,” his comrade answered flatly. “This is the capital city of Inusia, if you couldn’t tell.” “But it’s disgusting,” Vik insisted. “It’s like a disease, festering with sick metal and tainted air. I don’t think even Straits was worse than this; all I see is smog and gray buildings, going higher and higher. There isn’t even any water nearby.” “There used to be, I guess. For now, this is the empire. What, are there better cities in Nneoh?” “Of course there are! Vist, on the coast, is like a flower full of pollen, overflowing with different colors and smells from all around the world. We call Nures the City of Ports, and I have spent my teenage years exploring the ins and outs of it and I still haven’t been to every harbor or seen every inch of coastline it rises from. And Shahk, where I grew up and visited with my sister – how often we’d lose each other in the wide streets, the hills, or the forests outside of it!” Silverius was silent for a moment. “Funny,” he finally said, “I only saw fire and corpses when I was in Nneoh last.” Vik said nothing else to the man until they stopped in the midst of the steel streets of Inusia and walked their motorcycle to a quiet gas station. “The sun will be setting soon,” Vik said, looking up at the darkening sky and pulling the large green cloak around him. Now that they were out of the desert and the day was waning, Vik remembered that the Inusian hemisphere was steeped in winter, and he had begun to shiver. “Do you think we should keep going? I don’t know how much of a head-start the Knight got on me, so perhaps its best to keep going west.” Silverius looked up from the gas pump he was using to fuel the dirty vehicle. “I can keep going, but you definitely can’t.” He gave Vik a conspicuous look over. “You’re looking almost as thin as I am, and you’ve been yawning in the back of my head for the past two hours. There’ll be no point in finding the Knight if you’re too weak to fight them.” The mercenary was not wrong. As Vik shivered again, he felt his stomach rumble for the third time in ten minutes, and he scratched consciously at his chin. An unkempt beard of curls had grown out during his odyssey within the Mirage Desert; between his boorish appearance and his weak shivers, the Nneonian knew he was the image of a wild man. “Alright then,” he admitted reluctantly, “We’ll just stay at an inn and get some dinner for tonight. We leave at dawn, though.” Silverius nodded and finished refueling the motorcycle. “Fine with me. You’ve got money for the inn, right?” Vik looked at the mercenary and blinked. Though he sighed and shook his head, the mercenary seemed to have no qualms with Vik’s state of poverty. “I spent all of my money on searching for you and keeping myself alive. That was my very last bit I just spent on gas. No matter, though.” He started to walk out of the empty gas station lot, wheeling the motorcycle behind him nonchalantly. The Nneonian followed, holding the flowing green cloak around his shoulders and his strong eyebrows knitted together without comprehension. “This definitely matters,” he interjected. “What are we going to do with no money between the two of us?” As if in response, Vik’s stomach rumbled once again, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. “We rob someone,” Silverius said, too casually. “I know the perfect neighborhood – sleepy, unassuming, and far enough from the police that we’d have time to escape if we were detected. It really is no matter.” Though he followed after Silverius, the Hero of Flame was stunned into a state of disquiet; his eyes widened, both of his hands clenched onto his singular robe, and his palms began to sweat. “No,” he whispered after a long moment of shock, “I will not rob anyone. I couldn’t. I’m not a criminal. I’m doing this all to save people, I couldn’t steal from them… I won’t…” “Are you finished mumbling already?” The mercenary did not even bother to look back to chastise the Hero of Flame. “Unless you’ve got a better way of providing food and a place to sleep, this is our only option. Don’t worry, we won’t be killing anyone. You can keep your little conscience clean, I promise.” Even though Silverius gave his word, Vik could not help but feel as if he were being torn apart by what he was about to take part in. At times he clenched his eyes shut and struggled to swallow lumps in his throat; in others, he wiped sweat from his forehead, and in still other moments he seriously contemplated running away from Silverius, the Crystals, and his self-given responsibilities. No matter what, Vik saw the cold, hard blue eyes of his father, staring at him, watching and condemning. He was no stranger to living with the burden of his father’s wishes on his broad shoulders, but now the weight of the Hyusei patriarch felt especially heavy, and with each step Vik’s knees felt as if they were going to snap into dust and cause the Nneonian man to collapse in on himself. When he blinked, Vik saw the unfeeling red of Cidolas’ gaze, and each time he did so he thought of Silverius’ offhand remark that Cidolas had died. Not just died, but she had sacrificed herself to preserve Silverius’. The two had seemed familiar with each other, enough that they had worked as a team to recruit the third Hero, and apparently their relationship was so strong that Cidolas had readily killed herself for Silverius’ sake. Cidolas’ act of self-sacrifice only acted to tear Vik apart more. He wanted such courage and bravery within his own actions, but at the same time he suddenly felt himself wishing that someone would sacrifice their life for him. All his life, Vik now realized as he clung to the tattered cloak of olive green, he had been sacrificing himself, whether it be for his mother’s last wishes, his sister’s smile, his father’s expectations, his group’s patriotism, or his own self-given missives. He had been sacrificing himself for more than twenty-five years, and here he was following a man who nonchalantly spoke of a comrade dying for him. In that moment, Vik wanted nothing more than to strangle Silverius or to be him. Then, like an afterthought, Vik remembered his comrades of Nneoh’s Herohji squad. Instantly the shaking man burst into tears. ‘I had forgotten the sacrifices of my friends,’ he realized with horror, ‘For a second I wanted to kill him. I actually wanted to kill this man, this comrade of mine.’ Grief, pain, and disgust choked Vik from the inside, bringing him tears and animal-like grunts as he attempted to both hold in his emotion and express it. ‘I am becoming a killer, just like the Knights.’ He said none of this aloud, for the revulsion that had appeared within his chest prevented Vik from saying a single intelligible word. Silverius looked back at the man with annoyance and frowned as he put an arm around Vik’s broad shoulders, ushering the taller man along and awkwardly rubbing on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, calm down already. We’re here. Listen, you’ll be fine – I’ll do all the work, and you can keep your hands clean and even close your eyes if you want. Alright?” Vik had been too absorbed in his thoughts and introspective crusade to notice, but night had fallen as the two walked through the cold city of Inusia, and they had arrived in a practical neighborhood devoid of people. The streets were still paved in steel and the air was still a permanent shade of gray due to the unending smog, but here the buildings were much shorter – most of them only two or three stories; the sidewalks were at times littered with garbage and discarded toys, and there were little to no people walking down the streets. As was the norm for the city, there were no trees or shrubbery, only purposeful concrete and steel. Silverius led Vik to a random house and propped up the motorcycle to a wall. Lifting Vik’s robe over his head as a makeshift hood, the mercenary looked around for a short while before speaking casually to his friend, who by now had mostly stopped crying and regained his normal breathing pattern. “I know this city, and by now most people in this area are still at work or are going to bed. Here’s the plan: we break in, I steal some things worth traveling money, and you stand by as my lookout. Anything suspicious happens, you yell for me and you run. Understand? Hey, you understand?” The two looked in each other’s eyes, but Vik was still so delirious and weak from his frenzy and physical condition that he only barely heard what Silverius had said. Regardless, he nodded and sniffed. Without another word, Silverius turned and effortlessly used a small knife to break into the apartment he had chosen at random. The door’s lock broke easily in what was undoubtedly a practiced act for him; without delay, he stepped inside the house like a shadow, and pulled Vik inside of it not a moment later. As soon as the door closed behind Vik, Silverius retreated into the darkness and slyly started up the stairs of the apartment. The Nneonian was left to wander about the first floor of the lavish apartment. As he walked aimlessly around the furnishings, Vik shivered once again and felt his entire body ache with pain. The sun had set and the first floor was shrouded in darkness, though a few corners and edges of the wall were illuminated by natural easing of the umbra. Terrified and afraid of retribution, Vik drew into himself and clung to the shadows; as much as he wanted to, he was unable to bring himself to the light around the windows, or even to look at the diseased steel world around him. In his stumbling, eventually Vik bumped into a hearth above an unburning fireplace, and noticed a beam of light shining on a single standing portrait on the hearth. Unable to stave off his curiosity, Vik gingerly grabbed the portrait and brought it closer to him, so that he could see it within the singular beam of radiance. Two tall men stood smiling, happy, and in between them a shorter and prettier woman stood, smiling the hardest of the three. All of them had the same twinkling, mischevious eyes, and they all shared the same curled, flame-red hair. The woman in particular was strikingly beautiful, and the men that must have been her brothers stood around her protectingly, as if to shield her from the world or any prying eyes. “A family,” Vik whispered as he stared at the picture, unable to peel his eyes out of contact with the smiling threesome. His dirty finger traced over the faces of each sibling, and suddenly Vik felt a sense of pained revulsion. “How dare they… No!” He faltered backwards, recoiling and audibly dropping the framed picture onto the ground. “How dare I? They have it right… They are dependent on each other, and I… I! Rosaria, please… forgive me. What have I done? What would my dear sister say to me if she saw me now? Oh God, in the eight heavens! Don’t look at me! Look not upon me!” Light engulfed Vik. He turned, bent forward almost in on himself, hands struggling to hide his face, and he saw a man standing in the kitchen he had entered, staring down at Vik with widened, confused eyes. The Nneonian gave in to his instinct. Vik fully turned around, and his flying right hand grabbed onto a large cleaver left haphazardly on the kitchen’s marble counter. The weapon was the first and only thing nearby for Vik to grab onto, so he picked it up without hesitation. As Vik moved, the older man turned as well and tried to run, but he was much slower than the trained Nneonian soldier, and his body was weighed down by sleepiness and a hefty gut. Vik was upon him in less than a second, and his muscular arm swung the knife at the man with beastlike speed and power. The sharp and thick knife burst right into the homeowner’s neck, cutting through his skin and blasting apart his muscles and spinal cord all at once. The force was enough to send the man spinning forward from the blow and its resulting reaction of blood, and his face smashed into the hard chrome refrigerator on his side. Bones and cartilage were audibly crushed in this blow, and not only did the smashing of the resident’s face send more blood spurting out into the bright interior of the kitchen, it also sent the man reeling backwards quickly, and he landed on the linoleum floor of his kitchen with a splat of finality, once more sending blood racing along the tiled floor and into the air from its final movement. All of this occurred in less than a second, and after acting, Vik had stood frozen in his attacking pose, the cleaver still held in his outstretched and flexed grip. Blood was painted all over him. Slowly, in disbelief, Vik looked down to the man he had just killed. Though the homeowner’s face and neck was covered in blood and ruined beyond recognition, his fire-red beard and thinning hair were still visible, as was the broad shoulders and prominent collarbone that all three of the people within the portrait had proudly boasted. From his age and appearance, there was no doubt that the man was the father of the three young adults smiling proudly in the portrait Vik had wistfully observed just seconds ago. Vik dropped the knife and faltered backwards, more disgusted than he had ever been before. He gasped repeatedly, struggling to breathe, and found himself unable to peel his eyes off the shattered face of the dead father, permanently stuck in shock. He shivered violently, almost to the point of convulsion, and he stood just outside of the kitchen’s linoleum, frozen. Finally, when he had gathered enough air within his lungs to scream, a calloused hand clamped over his mouth. Vik looked back in fear, only to further feel Silverius wrap his other arm around Vik’s shoulder with comfort. The mercenary met Vik’s tear-filled eyes and nodded in understanding, gently turning Vik around and averting his gaze from the scene of the crime. Without exchanging words, Silverius led Vik to the door and replaced his bloody robe with a thigh-length black one, likely lifted from the apartment of the dead man. Vik stood, shaking and silently crying within himself, and Silverius left him to go back into the kitchen. ***** Silverius did not sleep. He sat on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes wide open. For hours he had been sitting there, mostly motionless and unable to rest at all, not as long as Vikcent Hyusei slept in front of him. Silverius’ stomach had been growling from hunger and his limbs had grown weak, but still Silverius dared not leave the small room in the inn. Truthfully, the room was little more than a closet with two beds shoved inside for all the space it had, but the two did not need much space for the single night they would be resting in the inn. At least, that was what Silverius had thought before. Now, looking down at Vik’s tumultuous sleeping form and reflecting back on the actions of the day, he wanted nothing more than to have oceans of space between him and the other chosen Hero. ‘I’ve made a mistake,’ Silverius thought to himself, not for the first time. ‘I’ve brought him to ruin.’ It had taken Vik’s murder of the innocent man they were stealing from for Silverius to realize just how different he was from the Nneonian. The killing had been swift, clean, and efficient, but Vik took no pride in his actions. If anything, his flawless killing had been horrifying, as if he had finally stepped over an obstacle and planted himself in a new world of crime and corruption. Even though the action had been completely independent, Silverius could not help but feel as if he had brought the Nneonian to this, and that it was the influence of Silverius that gifted Vik with his destructive impulses. Perhaps the worst part was watching Vik’s descent into horror and self-loathing. The Nneonian had not spoken a word since the two left the Inusian apartment, not even as Silverius led them to a seedy inn, not through the small dinner they had shared, and not even as he crawled into bed. His face had been pale and recoiling silently the entire time, as if being forced to watch something hideous, and even as he slept his body visibly contorted in pain. The large man whimpered and turned in his sleep constantly, and Silverius could only imagine the sort of nightmares he was having to suffer through. ‘Forgive me, Vik. This is our destiny now.’ Slowly the night passed. Silverius sat in thought, unmoving, deaf to the world. He felt somewhat sympathetic for the man for a good while, though it was not long before Silverius began to resent these sensations within himself and started to steel himself. Though he and Vik were both ‘chosen’, the mercenary reasoned, never were they forced to fight or act at all. As much as he’d wanted to do otherwise, Silverius had chosen to be chosen, and he sought out Vik and Maria with purpose. He could only assume that the same was true for Vik, and that everything that had happened was the man’s own fault as the consequences of his actions. Feeling sympathy for the Nneonian would not solve anything, Silverius knew, and in fact it would only weaken him. Of course, by extension that same logic meant that Silverius was entirely accountable for his own actions, as well. That was something he had come to terms with long ago, and the mercenary could not help but feel like he had been deluded from this fact when he had spent time with Maria. ‘I have no one to blame for my destiny but myself.’ Before Silverius knew it, the night had passed, and the warm colors of encroaching daylight began to wipe their rosy fingers onto the window of the small room. The light made Silverius uncomfortable, and he retreated further into the new large black coat he had bought himself before booking the room. The garment was thick and a little oversized, making it perfect for the encroaching winter. The mercenary had never liked winter, not even within his earliest memories as a Shorican youth. A rustling erupted from the bed before Silverius could be dragged against his will back to his memories, and with a yawn he looked over to Vik. The Nneonian had been somewhat still for the past hour or so, perhaps finally slipping into a modicum of rest, but now it seemed like he was rising. The small and growing rays of sunlight landed directly on his face, as if summoning him to wakefulness. The Nneonian turned, yawned, and started to stretch. Within a few minutes, he sat up and looked at his comrade with squinting eyes. “So you’re awake,” Silverius mumbled, his voice scratchy and low after hours of pensive silence. “Welcome back.” “Thank you,” Vik yawned. “Did you not sleep?” The Hero of Wind shook his head. “I don’t like to sleep more than I have to, and I wasn’t very tired.” He did not mention the fact that he wanted to keep a cautious yet guilty eye on the Nneonian man – or that he did not trust him well enough to sleep in his presence more than was necessary. ‘I am the killer and I don’t trust the innocent man. Ironic.’ Silverius outwardly shrugged slightly, but Vik did not notice. “That’s rough,” Vik said as he rubbed his face. It seemed that his fitful sleep had done well to cure him of most of his despair, but his thick eyebrows and high brow were still knitted closely together emotively. He yawned again. “I suppose we should start getting ready to move, then.” “That’s our best option,” Silverius admitted, “Even though I prefer moving at night. We don’t have a choice, and I don’t have much time.” Vik squinted at Silverius, the slow gears of his sleepy mind visibly churning. “Why are you in a rush?” “…Have you forgotten we fight for the same cause?” Silverius scoffed, but even he did not believe what he was saying. A little too hastily and intently, he continued. “The faster we get to that Knight you’re chasing, the faster I can get to Maria, and the less innocent people die as a result of their rampage.” Vik visibly paled at Silverius’ mention of innocent lives. He had stood and started to dress as the mercenary spoke, and turned away as the unmentionable was stated. Now it was his turn to rush his speech, and his attempt to change the subject was boorish at best. “What’s the story behind you and this Maria person? You were looking for her before I went to the Desert, I remember.” The mercenary did not speak at first. He stood as well and gathered his coat around his shoulders, shrouding himself in black cloth and the pockets of shadow that still populated the room. Still silently, he pulled up his belongings and his waist pack. His pause was so long that Vik assumed he was not going to get an answer, but right after coming to this conclusion he was proven wrong. “I saved her,” Silverius whispered, almost too quietly to hear. “Then the Serpent Society took her from me. I have to rescue her, permanently this time. That is my hurry.” Like a feather floating down to the ground, slowly and peacefully, Silverius’ words hung in the room, untouched. Vik did nothing but nod his head respectfully and finish dressing himself. He was weak and still withdrawn after the events of the previous day, and though he was considerably more energized after rest and a meal, the Nneonian was still visibly affected by his journey into corruption and mirages. His cheeks were gaunt, his clothes hung from his shoulders, and his jaw boased a growing, scraggly beard. He was barely in a position to take care of himself – so he decided not to interrogate Silverius any more, especially since the mercenary did not look entirely comfortable with the topic of the girl he ‘saved’. The two men were silent even as they headed out to the lobby of the small, almost empty inn and checked themselves out. Silence hung over the two for hours, even as they rode on the same sand-stained motorcycle out of Inusia City. It took them an hour or two to ride through the city, and afterwards they rode west, towards where the stars had fallen. Vik was sure that the Lance Knight had summoned the wrath of the cosmos for a reason, and this reason could have been nothing but antagonistic destruction. To that end, it only made sense for the atmospheric horror – which Silverius had likened to a massive bolt of lightning – to be concentrated in a city, for maximum casualties. Taking that into account with the direction the ‘lightning bolt’ had taken, the two men concluded that it could have only landed in Inusia City or Phenicks, capital city of Shorica. As they had seen, Inusia’s capital had been completely unharmed. The two Heroes drove past the border of Shorica and Inusia as the sun reached its maximum height in the sky. They kept to the south roads, with the coast on the side of them as guidance, and before two hours had passed, they found themselves approaching the city of Phenicks. They were correct in their hypothesis, but the satisfaction of being right did not make either Hero feel any jubilation at all. The damage done to Phenicks was horrifying and worse than they ever could have imagined. From the hills outside of the city, it looked as if the skies ravaged exactly half the city. They could see the normal landscape of the seaside metropolis – narrow streets, colorful buildings, cobblestone roads – but it all ended abruptly near the middle of the city and onward toward the west. From there on was only ruin: every building charred black, some of them falling apart from burning decay, some with smoke still rising from their metal corpses. Even from afar the two could see the extent of the destruction, and how horrifying it was. Their silence only grew heavier, yet Silverius drove on, determined to enter the city of half ruin. Once they entered, they found that the city was as silent as they were. No cries, no screams, no sirens, none of the general chatter and bustle that accompanied any place that humans inhabited. There was only stark silence and the sound of automated engines, generators, and electricity running. The city looked and sounded as if it had been gutted and suffered its innards being ripped out. Silverius and Vik rode the stuttering motorcycle through the wide streets of Phenicks with measured slowness. Their eyes took in every part of the city, and they saw that even the parts of the city that were not ruined had been abandoned, as if the entire population had migrated from the city – and fast. Windows and doors were still open in many places, and it was clear from building interiors and items strewn about the streets that the people of Phenicks had not planned to leave when they did. Even if the mass migration had been as a result of the Lance Knight’s heavenly attack, the city left unharmed likely would not have looked as frozen in time as it did. Neither wanted to admit to themselves, let alone each other, the worst-case scenario that they were both formulating in their heads: that the destruction of the city had also wiped clean all life in Phenicks, without a trace. When they arrived at the half of the city that was destroyed, the sky started to weep ash upon them. The sheer chaos and ruin of the city brought to Silverius forced him to stop the motorcycle, out of reverence and respect to the deathly silence. He walked through the ash and debris decorated streets, hands on the handlebars of the battered vehicle, and Vik followed. This part of the city was heart-wrenchingly ripped apart, and for the first time both men saw evidence that the life in the city had not been extinguished immediately. Corpses were tossed about haphazardly, as if they had simply fallen in the midst of their daily lives. Most bodies had their flesh melted off, exposing bone and thin threads of muscle. Large amounts of rubble crushed some corpses; others hung on each other, as if to shield or protect loved ones or friends. All of them had been destroyed without mercy. Here especially, beneath clouds of smoke and ash, the city was lifelessly quiet. “No human could have done this,” Vik whispered, afraid to break the unholy silence but unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer. “Anyone who could have the power to do this, and the conscience to actually do it… So many lives lost… So many innocents…” His knees buckled and he laid a supportive hand on the motorcycle that Silverius dragged beside him. Even Silverius – ever the picture of stoicism in tragedy – found himself horrified at the ruination around him. “This world truly is corrupt. How hopeless,” he mumbled. “These people didn’t even get a chance to fight. They were massacred… wiped out, by a thief that fancies himself a knight.” His grip tightened on the handlebars of the motorcycle until his knuckles turned whiter than the ash. “We have to do something about this. We can’t let these people do this to any more cities. No – I won’t accept them taking even one more life. We have to stop them, Silverius!” Though they were both knee-deep in the same shattered city, Silverius found himself struggling to come up with the same passionate determination that Vik was starting to show off. He turned his head away from the Nneonian and lowered it, allowing ash to fall over his hair and stain it gray. “What could we ever do, though? The problem isn’t just the Society – it’s the world. We can’t change the whole world… We’d just kill ourselves trying.” “So you’re willing to let this sort of thing happen, even if you have the power to stop it?! No, I can’t accept that, and I know you can’t, either!” “What do you know? I’ve known for a while just how corrupt and merciless this world is. I’m not the blind one here.” “I know you were chosen as a Hero of the Crystals, and I know that means something. We have power, Silverius. It’s our duty to use it!” “I have power,” the mercenary snapped as he cut his eyes at Vikcent. “You gave yours up to some kid that outsmarted you, remember? The only reason this even happened is because you were too slow in finding the Crystal in the Desert, too, right? That is what you said, isn’t it?” Vik paled once again, this time deeper than before, and for a second Silverius thought the taller man would faint and become one with the corpses in the Phenicks streets. The mercenary turned back around and his posture worsened from shame. The Nneonian said nothing in response, and Silverius felt a terrible sensation wash over him in the renewed silence. He raised his head and opened his mouth to apologize or say something in his defense, but froze in his tracks before he could do so. Vik walked into the motorcycle because of Silverius’ sudden stop, but before he could question or berate his comrade, the dark-haired mercenary whispered in awe. “It was her… It had to have been. I saw her… I really saw her.” Again, before Vik could say anything in response, Silverius moved. He let go of the motorcycle and ran around a corner ahead, and Vik had no choice but to follow, confused. “Silverius?!” he cried out, breathing hard. “Where are you going? Come back!” “I found her!” Silverius ran down the length of another street and made another turn, to the right this time. He arrived at a ruined avenue, bordered on both sides by gray and peeling buildings. When he arrived at the street, the mercenary stopped abruptly, his chest heaving as it drew breath. “I found her,” he repeated, eyes wide and mouth left ajar. “I really found her.” He started to walk forward, slowly. Standing in the middle of the cobblestone street, wearing an oversized olive green cloak, Maria Zorphan stood, looking back at Silverius with blank eyes. “It really is you,” he said as he stumbled to the woman he fell in love with. “I can’t believe it. Maria. Maria!” A quivering smile danced on Silverius’ lips, hesitantly, and he raised his hands as if to cradle the woman’s face. She looked at him without emotion in her big red eyes, and the mercenary’s calloused hands hovered over her cheeks without touching them. They shook, afraid and unsure. Silverius’ coal black eyes looked all over unmoving Maria, drinking in her features. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Maria. Her eyes were just the same, large and innocent and blood red. Her full lips, her wavy violet hair, her long eyelashes, her height; it was as if no time at all had passed, and she had only been hidden behind Silverius’ back all along. He pulled his arms back and pinched his hands, blinking as he made sure that this was no dream. Vik ran into the avenue and paused, watching the fragile scene in breathless awe. “I’ve missed you so much,” Silverius said, blinking away tears. Finally he drew Maria into a hug, holding her tight and pressing his nose right against her hair. He sniffed. “You even smell the same… Oh, Maria… Maria…” The mercenary did not bother to hide his tears anymore, and he buried his face in his lover’s mane unabashedly. “I thought I’d never see you again. I had to search, of course, but… I was sure that I would be alone again, for the rest of my life. I’m so glad I found you… You could never understand how I’ve missed you!” “Who is Maria?” Silverius blinked a couple of times before pulling back from the embrace and holding Maria’s shoulders at arms-length. He stared right into her eyes again, and found only childish ignorance. “What?” “Who is Maria?” she repeated, completely unaffected by Silverius’ emotions. “What are you talking about? You… You can’t be serious, right? You remember me, don’t you?” “I do not,” the stone-faced woman replied blankly. “Are you my Lord?” “I… N-no, I’m… You really don’t remember me?” Silverius took a step back and hugged his arms, his breath coming to him with difficulty. “What did they do to you? Could it be that they took your memories away again? Is this like when we met, that first time? No, even then – even then you knew who you were! You knew who I was! Don’t you know who I am?! I am yours, Maria! Your savior, your sir, your lover! You told me you loved me! I made you so many promises! Is this because I failed your last promise? I could never have forgotten you, Maria, but you… You’ve forgotten me… Did you forsee this? Did you know this would happen to you again?” Though Silverius was almost tearing himself apart from internal agony and frustration, Maria still stood before him, stony and ignorant. “You are not my Lord,” she said, much in the same way one would say the sky is not green. Silverius looked to the sky and began to cry out wordlessly. He did not get to scream for a full second, though, before being interrupted by a booming, commanding voice cutting through the air of the city of ashes. He looked around in further confusion before being pulled backward by Vik, who had ran up behind him. “What are you doing? Stop!” Silverius struggled with the strong pull of the Nneonian, but was unable to rip himself free from the grasp of the larger man. “Stop! Maria!” He reached out to her futilely – the woman did not extend a hand to meet Silverius’, nor did she move at all. Her eyes watched, emotionlessly and without question. “Vik! Stop – ugh!” The Nneonian slapped the crook of his arm over Silverius’ mouth and continued to drag him near a large pile of rubble and corpses. “Shut up!” he whispered aggressively. “Stop fighting! Do you want him to hear you?!” A muffled “Who?!” erupted from Vik’s elbow, and the mercenary still fought tooth-and-nail to free himself. “The Lance Knight! I’d recognize that voice anywhere! That Maria girl must be being escorted by that Knight – we’ve found them both!” Vik arrived at his destination and, heaving with the strength that one could predict from the size of his body and arms, threw Silverius behind the outcropping of rock and broken stone. Between the walls of a building and the fallen debris, Vik had forced the mercenary into an alcove of sorts, and he jumped into the small space right afterwards. As he did, Vik brought forth a mangled corpse and a handful of rocks with him to hide the two in their small space. Silverius found himself too cramped to move, especially when Vik leaned on him to keep him placid. “The Knight is here, so why are you stopping me?! We came here to stop them, you said it yourself!” “Shut up and listen,” Vik whispered angrily as he peeked out from between the rocks and haphazard bodies. “I know what I said, but I have a very bad feeling about this. We can’t fight that Knight now, we just can’t. We’ll lose; I know it. That Knight will rip us to pieces. Trust me!” “You’re just a coward!” Silverius roared, even as the beastly voice of the Lance Knight echoed throughout the air, closer this time. Maria looked up towards the voice this time, but did not move. “Let me go!” “I said shut up!” Vik elbowed Silverius in his ribs, sharp enough to draw the wind out of him, and turned back to glare at the mercenary. “If you go out there right now, we’ll all die! You, me, and Maria!” Vik shivered, turned, and crouched even lower. “Right now, there’s nothing we can do. I feel it in my bones.” Right when Vik finished talking, the Lance Knight appeared on the other side of the avenue and started to march towards Maria. When the Knight spoke soon afterwards – voice booming and slamming up and down the street with the fervor of a god. As soon as the Knight spoke, Silverius and Vik both froze. Their faces lost all color and, involuntarily, their muscles tensed up. Every one of their instincts told them to flee for their lives. “Where are they, sister? The fools! The infidels! The maggots!” the Knight slammed their gigantic titular weapon into the damaged cobblestone, sending handfuls of rocks flying as the huge spear impaled into the ground, and with both hands the Knight took hold of Maria from behind. “You saw them, did you not? I sense them nearby! Tell me!” The two Heroes could tell that Maria looked at the Lance Knight with the same ignorance she had shown Silverius, and so could the Knight. After a moment of staring at the girl, the Knight took Maria’s hand and started walking off to the west, dragging the lance behnd them. “Enough of this,” the Knight called out, “The Sea awaits us! Come, C0!” As the two left as quickly as they appeared, the Lance Knight bellowed a wrathful statement once more, their voice husky and almost demonic behind the horned helmet. “Follow us if you dare, roaches, but pray you keep your distance! The instant I find you, I will crush you into dust!” Even as the two Ouroboros affiliates passed the horizon and continued moving to the west, out of eyesight, Silverius and Vik sat where they were, unmoving. It took every ounce of self control they had not to scurry away like cornered animals, and even when they blinked they could still see a very visible beast looming above them, whose aura reeked of bloodlust and hatred. ‘We can’t fight him,’ Silverius knew, instantly. ‘That Knight is stronger than me, and Taoris, and even Maria when she loses control.’ The primal fear paralyzed the mercenary, and he started to sweat all over as his body shook. ‘It’s hopeless. No matter what, we’ll never be able to kill a beast like that.’ Yet while Silverius was frozen in place, Vik started to writhe about within the small hiding place of death he had built. “Damn it! Damn, damn, damn! Again – again, I was too weak! I hesitated!” “What are you talking about,” Silverius whispered. For once his eyes were wide and trembling, and his irises had shrunk down to almost imperceptible black dots. “You were right. There was nothing we could have done…” “No!” Vik turned to look at his comrade with a completely different look. Where Silverius was pale and defeated, Vik seemed to burn with an indignant fire from within, and his tanned face was flushed with frustration. “I’m not giving up. Somehow we have to take down that Knight, and we have to do it soon! I won’t be intimidated anymore – we have to come up with a plan!” Silverius stared at the man and still shook. ‘Vik… who are you? Isn’t this the same man who lost sleep over killing an innocent man? The same man who was frozen with fear just as I was? Now… You’re someone different.’ The mercenary bit his lip and studied the emotive Nneonian. Vik continued after not receiving a response. “I knew it… That Knight is going to the west. And he mentioned the Sea… what could he mean? What can we do to stop them?” He frowned deeply and held a hand over his mouth, channeling all of his energy to what must have been serious thought. “Damn it… If only I still had a Crystal!” ‘I have the Crystal, and I am the one shaking in fear.’ Silverius shook his head and closed his eyes as he remembered Maria’s blank, unknowing eyes. After a deep sigh, he spoke quietly. “I still don’t think we could ever have a chance at killing that Knight. But maybe we don’t have to.” Vik looked at the mercenary without comprehension. “What I mean is, all we have to do is take their Crystal – and Maria – and then we escape. No lives lost, our mission accomplished.” Even as he spoke, Silverius’ eyes narrowed and he looked down in shame. ‘How am I going to kill all the Serpent Knights for their crimes if I can’t even hope to kill the first one I meet?’ Vik, though, took hold of this idea enthusiastically. “Yes, that works for now! We might be outclassed, but we aren’t outsmarted – there’s still a way for us to win!” He finally stood, pushing away the corpses and rubble near the entrance of the shelter with a hard push of his shoulder. Though the skies were still darkened by clouds and rain of ash, the outside was much brighter than the impromptu shelter’s interior, so as Vik stood he found himself illuminated and brightened by the somber air of the outside world. He turned and held a hand out to Silverius, out of support, and his face was overshadowed by the light rushing in. Silverius squinted as he took his comrade’s hand. ‘I understand now, Vik. You are the real Hero.’ ...End of Part Twenty-Two. <- Previous Page | Main Page | Next Page ->